Friend in Need
by Niente Zero
Summary: A buddy of Sam's needs the team's help - to bail his partner out of an explosive situation. Michael is happy to help, but he'd rather the client didn't play with Fiona's chemistry set. That the client is in law enforcement is just one more complication.


**Author's note: This is a little follow-up to a story I posted in the Justified fandom. I busted that one out as comment fic, and wanted to show the Burn Notice side of the story. It proceeded to take me months to write the damn thing. Keeping continuity with something thrown together in a couple of hours nearly killed me. This is not hyperbole, kids. Continuity. The silent killer. **

**This story takes place early in season 4 of Burn Notice, with poor Jesse off-screen for most of it. I hope it provides entertainment, if not enlightenment!**

**Also, Matt Nix is closely related to your deity of choice, and I can't help wanting to steal all his toys and play in the dirt with them.  
**

It was _way_ too early in the morning for Michael Westen to deal with what looked like a UN Summit meeting from the Kruschev era. It also might have been too early in the morning to be drinking. That didn't stop Sam Axe from lounging against Michael's counter nursing a frosty bottle of beer while he argued with Fiona and Jesse. Michael poured himself a coffee and opened an apricot yogurt, buying time before he had to get between the three of them. He knew he'd done some bad things in his time as a spy, but he didn't believe he deserved this. No one deserved this. The only up side was that Fiona and Jesse seemed to be arguing something on behalf of Michael's mother. At least that meant that Madeline Westen wasn't here in person at this ungodly hour.

Michael cleared his throat. Nothing happened. Michael added a steely glare. The bickering went on.

"Stop." Michael resorted to raising his voice enough to be heard over the general scrum.

The arguing stopped and the three culprits turned to face Michael.

"What. Are you all doing. In my kitchen. This early." Michael said through gritted teeth. "One at a time. Quietly."

Three mouths opened as if to speak, and Michael lifted his hand up in the universal gesture of "Don't even start."

"Fiona. You first." He smiled at his ex-girlfriend, but it was closer to a baring of teeth than a true smile.

"Michael, Jesse was talking to your mother this morning, and some of the poor old dears around her neighborhood need our help. You wouldn't let them suffer, would you?" Fiona wheedled, tilting her head and batting her lashes. To tell the truth, from what Jesse had told her, she really didn't care that much about Madeline's neighbors. But she made it a point to win arguments against Sam.

"Jesse. Do you have anything to add?" Michael said.

Jesse shrugged, making puppy dog eyes at Fiona as he said, "No, I think Fiona covered everything."

"Sam."

Michael spooned yogurt into his mouth while Sam spoke. One way or another, this was probably all the breakfast he was going to get. Between the three of them, the others were pretty keen on disposing of his time.

"Mikey, Jesse's problem is just a bunch of old folks who got caught up in a multilevel marketing scam for drugs to, you know." Sam mimed what had to be the most disturbing charade for erectile dysfunction that Michael had ever seen.

"And...?" Michael said, dangerously close to losing his cool if Sam didn't get to the point.

"And, well, I sorta said we'd do a favor for a friend. Listen, I really owe this guy. Plus, uh, he needs our help a lot more than the Shady Glades Investment Club."

"Exactly what kind of favor did you volunteer for?" Michael said, setting his yogurt down so he could rub his temples. It was a great start to the day.

"I met Timmy a few years ago, overseas. He was an Army Ranger." Sam said.

"You've got an old buddy who's a Ranger? Well isn't this the little Romeo and Juliet story?" Fiona sniped.

Sam shrugged. "He got me out of a bit of trouble. Great shot, good guy. What can I say?"

"How about what you agreed to help him with?" Michael said tensely.

"Oh, yeah, I was getting to that." Sam said.

"Anyway, since Timmy came home, he's been working as a US marshal in Kentucky."

Eyebrows flew upward at this.

"A Fed?" Jesse interjected hotly. "You think it's a great idea to bring a Fed around a couple of burned spies?"

"Nah, he's cool. He's not going to narc on anyone, and anyway, he really needs our help."

Sam looked nervous, licking his lips and taking a sip of beer before getting to the crux of the issue.

"Remember that thing with Tommy Bucks?" Sam said.

"Oh, you mean the thing where he got shot after a marshal gave him twenty four hours to leave town?" Fiona said. "Now, personally, I thought that had style."

Michael's jaw throbbed.

"Sam, do not tell me that your friend Timmy is the one who shot Tommy Bucks. Do not tell me that."

"Nononono." Sam said, waving his beer bottle. "No. His, uh, partner is the one who shot Tommy Bucks. Tommy's employers aren't, uh, too happy about that. In fact it looks like they abducted Tim's partner last night from his place in Kentucky." Sam ran all the words together fast as if that might mitigate the reaction from Michael.

"Sam." Michael said with exaggerated patience. "Kidnapping is a Federal offense. The marshals don't need us to do their job for them."

"You don't get it Mike." Sam said, sincerity burning in his eyes. "The way Timmy puts it, the guy has forty eight hours, tops, before he's dead. Probably a lot less. These guys didn't grab him for a ransom or any kind of reason like that. It's straight up revenge, and sending a message to the next cop who thinks about crossing them. This is a good guy in a really, really bad place."

Fiona looked between Jesse and Sam. She sighed, clearly pained by what she was about to say.

"Well, I'm sold. Sam, what do we have to find the poor bastard?"

Michael put his hand up.

"Fine. Jesse, can you handle the pyramid scheme without backup? If nothing else, it'll keep you away from these Feds."

Jesse crossed his arms and leaned back.

"Yeah, I don't think a viagra scam is going to be too much of a problem." he said. "Go rescue the cop."

"Great. Sam, what DO we have?"

Sam looked at his watch.

"A bunch of background on Tommy Bucks's cartel hookup, and a plane to meet. I'll tell you on the way."

"I'll wait here. Might as well prepare some things that we'll definitely need if there's a chance we're fetching this marshal out of a guarded compound." Fiona said with an expression of innocent glee on her face.

**0xox0xox0**

_-The Client-_

Tim Gutterson had an overnight bag, a regular boy haircut just a shade longer than military standard, and a posture almost as correct as Michael's. To an uniformed observer, his business-casual wardrobe and air of slack good nature might make him look like a tech guy on conference travel.

To the informed observer, the tattoo on Tim's wrist disclosed in exactly which branch of the military he'd served. The quick, unobtrusive way that he'd assessed the area for threats, exits, and assets said that he hadn't lost the attitude, skills, sharpness that had kept him alive in a war zone. And to Michael's snap judgement there was an honesty in Gutterson's expression that said that he could be trusted as far as Michael trusted anyone, unless and until Tim proved otherwise.

Michael leaned against the Charger as Tim approached from the airline terminal. Sam looked pleased to see his old buddy. Michael didn't bother asking for the stories. If Sam wanted to share exactly how he'd come to owe Tim Gutterson a huge favor, he'd tell. If not, it was probably classified or very embarrassing. Or, in Sam's case, in all likelihood both.

Michael held out his hand as Gutterson drew near the car.

"I'm Michael Westen. Sam tells me you have a problem."

Tim looked at Sam. Sam wiggled his eyebrows in what Gutterson apparently found a reassuring fashion.

"Tim Gutterson." Tim shook Michael's offered hand. "A friend of mine has a big problem."

"We'll do what we can to help with that problem, Mr. Gutterson." Michael said with what he knew was a dreadful attempt at a sincere smile.

"Call me Tim." Gutterson said. "One thing and another, I'm outta the habit of answering to Mister."

"Tim." Michael said. "Fair enough. You can call me Michael."

"Sam." Tim said, reaching for Sam's hand to shake it. "Good to see you again. Thanks for ... this."

"I owe you, brother." Sam said seriously. "Now, let's get rolling."

"Nice car." Tim said as he climbed into the back of Michael's Charger.

"Thanks." Michael said. He spent a scant thirty seconds checking that there was no one watching them as he pulled out into mid-morning Miami traffic.

"So Timmy, I gave Mikey what I knew about the Cartel. What do you have from your end?" Sam asked.

"Whole lot of dead people and not a lot else." Gutterson said. "Couple of weeks ago, Raylan Givens, the man who's been taken, was in a shoot-out with folks sent in from Miami to take him. Guess after that, we thought the threat was off the boil for a bit, and anyhow, what with resources being thin, Raylan damn well refused to have round the clock cover. Figured he was safe during the day, safe as any other day as a Marshal, that is, and at night he could take care of himself."

Tim rubbed the back of his head tiredly. "We all found excuses, we being my boss, my partner Rachel an' me, to be around the motel where Raylan was staying, pretty frequently. But even so, there was basically no security, 'cept Raylan's gun." He sounded skeptical of his own words.

"Raylan should rightly have been on suspension, but our boss, Chief Deputy Art Mullen, swung it so he'd been on desk duty these last two weeks. Raylan on suspension is more trouble than it's worth."

"I think I like the sound of this guy." Sam said.

"He's one of the good guys. Just got a fast draw and doesn't take a whole lot of crap." Tim said. "And got a mouth that gets him into plenty of trouble."

"Yup, I like this guy."

Michael made a non-commital sound. Raylan Givens might be one of the good guys, but he sounded like a pain in the ass with a talent for pissing off the wrong people. Even though that was a description that could probably (okay, almost certainly) be applied to Michael, it did make things complicated.

"Sam said that there was no ransom call." Michael said, moving the topic along to the practicalities of the day.

Tim drew in a breath. "No. Figure the guys from the cartel want one thing from Raylan."

**0xox0xox0**

Fiona's assessment of Tim was less impartial than Michael's. She looked up from assembling a mechanism at the kitchen counter as the men entered Michael's makeshift apartment.

'Cute.' She thought. 'Could stand to grow his hair out a little bit.' Fiona mentally compared Tim to Michael's lean hardness, and Jesse's more muscular frame and found him closer to Michael in build but nevertheless with a pleasing solidity about him. She could never be bothered with a man who couldn't put up the least decent fight for his virtue. Tim met her appraising gaze with an open look of admiration for her bright smile and minimally clad form, setting his overnight bag down before he walked over to look at what Fiona was making and to introduce himself.

Sam hustled over to make the introduction and also perhaps stand a little between his well-educated law enforcement friend and the makings of an illegal explosive device.

"Fi, meet my good buddy Tim Gutterson. Tim, the one and only Fiona."

Fiona held out her slightly grease-stained hand and Tim shook it firmly.

"Glad to meet you, Fiona." he said. He noted the lack of last name. He was quite sure that Sam had his own reasons for the omission. Cop instinct told Tim that he really should go digging into the mysterious woman who appeared to be wrestling common household goods into an impressive sized bomb. Self-preservation, and furthermore, Raylan-preservation instincts said to leave well enough alone. If, for whatever reason, Sam trusted Fiona, then Tim would, at least for the duration of this rescue mission.

"Timmy, you said you had one piece of evidence that might point to where the bad boys are stashing your pal?" Sam said lightly, though his eyes were serious.

"Yeah, one little thing, part of why I needed a local contact."

Tim produced a business card from his jeans pocket. He made to hand it to Sam, but Michael stepped forward and took it from him.

"B.E.D" Michael read the name of a fashionable club from the card. "This was at the scene of the abduction?"

"Yes. It's what brought me to Miami. That and the cartel's the only logical threat to Raylan right now. The only threat that he couldn't take care of on his own." The unknown whereabouts of Boyd Crowder didn't come into it as far as Tim figured. If Boyd'd shown up meaning harm for Raylan, precedent suggested Boyd'd be the one in trouble now.

Fiona's eyebrow raised a notch at the qualification of the threat. These Kentucky marshals lived interesting lives, apparently. She'd never given much thought to what went on in that particular stretch of flyover country.

"Well, if we had more time, I could put on my party clothes and have some... fun." Fiona said with a mischievous smirk. "I bet I could ferret out the information about where Raylan is being held before you had time to finish your drinks."

"But seeing as it's the middle of the day and we don't have that sort of time..." Sam glanced anxiously between Fiona, Michael, and Tim.

Tim rubbed the back of his neck and shifted on the balls of his feet. He'd gone into law enforcement for a reason after he got back from Afghanistan. Had a notion that if enough good people did the job, they could make a difference. The letter of the law was, of course, a lot of what stood between people making dumbass decisions and general entropy. But the Ranger code, to leave no one behind, stood higher in his estimation than laws protecting the cartel holding Raylan from a small amount of mayhem.

"I'm not here as a Federal Marshal." he said, making eye contact with each person in the room to reinforce the sincerity of his message. "If you're thinking we need to break into the club right now to get information, I don't love the idea, but I'm not gonna whip out the cuffs or anything. You have my word on that."

"How far does that go?" Michael said. "If we're going to do this, Tim, you're going to have to trust us to get the job done. I can't have you second guessing me."

Tim didn't see that he had a choice. There was no room for ego or posturing; Westen knew the lay of the land. Sam Axe seemed content to follow Westen's lead, defering to him almost automatically. Westen was puzzling but impressive, having taken on Tim's urgent rescue mission with no questions about the legitimacy or necessity, only about practicalities. Tim inclined his head, the slightest nod of acquiescence.

"Yeah, I get that. Sam trusts you, I can trust you."

"So let's go, boys, I'm getting borrred." Fiona said.

**0xox0xox0**

Breaking into a nightclub in broad daylight was just enough of a challenge to keep Michael, Fi and Sam sharp. Conveniently, the nightclub backed onto a narrow utility road shared by clubs and businesses on two parallel streets in downtown Miami Beach.

In what would begin a record streak of not asking questions to which he really didn't want to know the answer anyway, Tim didn't ask where Fi got an inconspicuous looking gray utility van from. He didn't look happy about being told that he was staying put at the loft, but Michael hadn't worked with him and Sam hadn't worked a B and E with him. They didn't need the distraction of an unknown factor. That, and the marshal was still on the right side of the law. Until necessary, Michael would do him the favor of keeping him there, no matter how willing Tim was to do anything to get his partner back.

Michael was quietly pleased that Tim seemed capable of going with the flow and following instructions. He wouldn't call them orders, but if it came to that- the former sniper was following through on his promise to do things Michael's way. Sometimes it was easier managing the clients who had never been part of a violent world. Sure, they fell apart and he still wasn't sure what he was supposed to do when a grown man was sobbing into his shirt, but the military or espionage alpha dog types like Mike's old mentor Virgil, or burned spies like Jesse and screwed up Victor before him, could be a real pain in the ass, ready to go off on their own harebrained scheme at any time.

With luck, Tim's trust in Sam's judgement would hold through this rescue mission. Unit cohesion was going to be vital if they were going to extract someone from out of a drug baron's grasp without casualties.

Fiona parked the van so it blocked the view from the street of the club's back door. A phone call from a burn phone on the way over had gone straight to a voicemail announcing the club's opening hours. That didn't mean there'd be no-one about, but it cut down on the odds of them running into staff. It'd be hard to explain the bag of breaking and entering goodies or the latex gloves if they did.

Sam clipped through the padlock on the back door. It was a cheap, flimsy door and if the game had been more complicated than it appeared to be, Michael would suspect a trap. As it was, he suspected drunken revelry and something that probably got replaced a lot. There was sure to be tighter security inside.

Sam held the door open for Mike and Fiona, with a flourishing gesture, then pulled it closed. The door would look convincing enough from the street, although anyone coming in would notice that the lock was gone. The plan was to be fast.

Fiona had a can of spray paint and sprayed over the closed circuit camera that covered the entrance to stairs that led, hopefully, to offices. There was a better lock on the door at the top of the stairs, and an alarm. The alarm wasn't anything Michael couldn't disable quickly.

The back end of a nightclub was unspeakably drear compared to the glamour front of house. There was a small series of offices, the largest boasting an ample corner-window arrangement that looked out onto the utility road. It was not a view to entrance the senses, but it did make it most likely that this was the big boss's office.

"Fi, filing cabinet. Sam, find the safe." Michael said tersely as he hit a key on the keyboard in front of a very nice flat screen monitor. A locked screen came up. If whoever had set up the computer hadn't messed with the defaults it'd be easy to bypass that. Michael logged in using the default adminstrator setting. Getting to the other users' files would be trickier, but he had time while Fiona was rifling the filing cabinet.

"Found the safe." Sam said.

"Ooh, can I blow it?" Fiona asked.

"Let's see what else we find first." Michael said patiently. "What have you got from the files?"

"Nothing much. Oh, well, this seems to be some property tax documentation, not for this address, that could be something. It looks like a pretty hefty bill."

Fiona passed the paper to Michael. His eyebrows rose at the address. Maybe there was no need to get into the files on the computer. He could just use the power of the internet to find out about the address on the tax documents.

A search on the owner of the property turned up, to nobody's great surprise, the name of a tax lawyer.

"Better give Barry a call." Sam said.

"Better get out of here first." Michael said.

"Oh goody!" Fiona said. The final part of the plan was to make the break and enter look like vandalism. Fiona had a talent for vandalism. She pulled out the spray paint and sprayed "DIE YUPPIE SCUM" on one wall, and "Eat the Rich" on another. Sam took a wrench to the computer and monitor, and threw over the desk. Michael had his own spray can and was defacing some of the other offices. They had a few minutes to get downstairs and over turn tables and chairs and spray some obscenities about before getting the hell out of dodge. It wouldn't do for anyone to suspect the real reason for the break in.

On the way back to the loft after stashing the van and switching to Fiona's car, Michael called his old associate Barry. The money launderer almost always came through with requests for information. In return, Michael only vaguely menaced him most of the time, and was good to help Barry when the shady character needed it. And set him up with almost certainly dangerous dates with Fiona. That part of their deal was going to get Michael into trouble one of these days.

"You want to know what? You want to know who Sullivan Richards works for? You know he's the sort of man who's very discreet about his clients, I really don't think he'd be that interested in having Michael Westen after him." Barry yapped into the phone.

"Barry." Michael said in an even tone.

"Fine, fine. But you owe me. I'll call you back."

"Thank you, Barry." Michael said, disconnecting the call.

**0xox0xox0**

Tim was waiting when they got back to the warehouse. He hadn't gone anywhere, and he wasn't pacing or fidgeting. He was uncannily still, as if he had deliberately set aside all his concern, any twitchiness, any nerves, anything that might hinder the mission.

For Michael, it was like looking in the mirror. Not that he'd ever been a sniper, but there were times when it was necessary to detach entirely from one's emotional concerns. Sam could do it but usually wouldn't. Fiona simply didn't. Rather, she drew strength from her emotions.

"What did you find?" Tim asked as the others came into the loft. "What do we need to do next?"

"We got some information about a location that might possibly be connected to the men who have Givens. We're waiting on a call from a contact." Michael said. "What we're going to do right now is eat. Sam, go pick up some takeout."

"Sure, Mike. Tim, want to come for a walk?" Sam said, glancing at Michael to make sure that was okay.

"Sounds good." Tim said. He might not be fidgeting but it was more the case that he was _not_ fidgeting, and a chance to take a walk, stretch his legs, would be good.

"Miami isn't much of a walking town," Sam said, "but there's a good little hole in the wall place a couple of blocks from here. Mike's contact will call back soon, but there's no point sitting around."

"Yeah." Tim said. "I know."

"But it gets on your nerves anyway. This isn't a job, Tim, this isn't sitting waiting for the greenlight on a target, this is personal, waiting to find out if and when you're going to get one of your own back."

"Something like that. Haven't known Raylan that long but you know how it is."

"I know you're a good man, Tim Gutterson." Sam said, "And I know I really need a beer, which is good, because we're here." he indicated a run down looking restaurant from which a smell of good cooking emanated, gesturing for Tim to go in before his big emotional moment could overwhelm the general level of testosterone on the scene.

They arrived back at the loft with a six-pack of beer and a pile of cuban sandwiches wrapped in paper. Michael was working on a fuse. Tim glanced and then looked away as Michael went to wash his hands.

"Where's Fi?" Sam said.

"Went to bail out Jesse from Mom's clutches." Michael said. He glanced pointedly at Tim. "She'll be right back."

"She's going to be pissed when she finds out you were playing with explosives without her."

"She started it, and she'll fix the final details the way she wants. And she'll get to set them off." Michael said casually as if discussing the discharging of illegal explosives made from common household products in front of a Federal Marshal was just no big deal. Tim had given his word that he wouldn't baulk at the methods they used to extract Raylan Givens, nor would he try to make any arrests.

"So. Sandwiches! Beer!" Sam said.

"Not too much beer."

"Hey, I'm not the one who'll be playing with matches." Sam said.

"Sam." Mike said.

Tim watched with interest and ate his sandwich.

Fiona arrived back before Barry had returned Michael's call. She swirled in dramatically, her sheer sundress catching the light as she came through the door, poised to burst into an extended narrative of her visit with Jesse.

This time, both Sam and Mike glanced pointedly at the client.

Tim shook his head. "I don't want to know, do I?"

"Oh, not really." Fiona said, rustling through the paper to grab a sandwich. She eyed the beer and then eyed Michael's demo work and sighed, going to the fridge for a bottle of sparkling water. "Except that I seem to be surrounded by men who wouldn't have the good sense to come in from the rain."

Michael made a note to find out exactly what was going on with Jesse. Later. After the extraction.

Michael's phone rang. He looked at the caller display and made a face.

"Mom."

He turned his back to Fiona, Sam, and Tim, hoping that Fi and Sam would have the discretion to distract Tim from listening to Michael's side of being dressed down by his angry mother.

"No, Mom, I don't- yes, Mom, I'm sure he is- I don't know why he- I need Fiona right- no, that's not what I meant Mom, look I'm waiting for a call- yes, yes, Mom, that sort of call. Yes. Yes Mom. I'll be over tomor- yes, of course Mom. Good bye, Mom."

He turned around to see Tim Gutterson looking at him with a boggled expression and Fi and Sam totally failing to conceal their mirth.

"That was my mother. I'm sure Barry will call soon. Sam, Tim, let's go over the map of the property Givens might be held at."

Fiona pretended to look chastened but her eyes were sparkling, and Sam just plain smirked.

Tim put his hands up in a classic position of surrender. "Okay, this time I do want to know, but I'm just not goin' to ask."

Michael made a small fuming sound that only seemed amuse Fiona and Sam further, and pulled up a map of the area the property of interest was in on his computer.

Fiona mostly concentrated on making some toys for diversionary purposes, but occasionally threw in suggestions as the men planned a very limited military-style incursion on the property. Assuming it was where Raylan was being held, and assuming it was a high ranking cartel member's home, it was likely to be well guarded.

When the call came in from Barry, he confirmed that although the house was technically owned by Sullivan Richards, Richards was in the employ of most of the top men in the drug cartel. According to Barry, the house in question was actually occupied by a man he could only identify as Gio. He protested that frankly he'd already done enough asking around, and really didn't want to know anything more about the situation.

Michael finished his call and relayed the information. Tim stood up.

"Gio was the guy who sent the last crew who came after Raylan." he said, a tinge of anger coloring his otherwise matter-of-fact statement.

Michael leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. "Okay. We have a plan to get into the property if we can confirm that Givens is being held there. We don't have time to wait around. Let's move out. Make sure your headsets are working."

**0xox0xox0**

Persuading Tim to don the ancient coveralls that Madeline had passed on to Michael for the purposes of disguise was the only real time he'd baulked at the plan, arguing that since they weren't an FPL uniform they'd look just as conspicuous when he hung out up a utility pole as he would in his jeans. Michael insisted, and Tim finally conceded because they were wasting time and he'd agreed to follow Michael's lead.

Getting into position on the small platform at the top of the utility pole was not the hardest maneuver Tim had ever had to make as a sniper. Sam produced gaffs for the bottom of his boots from somewhere mysterious but probably illicit, and they made the climb easy. The platform was meant for utility workers to be able to use their repair tools and remain safe. As sniper's nests went, it was luxuriously large and flat.

Once Gutterson was safely in position, Sam, Fiona and Michael split off to take their positions. Fiona had what she called the 'fun job'. She even pointed out the delightful irony of blowing these people up just a tiny bit using some of the materials that they used to create the methamphetamines that provided large amounts of the cartel's income. Actually, Michael would have defined the expression on her face as 'unholy delight'. That expression was one of the reasons their relationship kept flaring back up into the intimate territory that they'd be better off avoiding.

Sam and Michael had positions on the ground. There was a high fence surrounding the property, thin metal bars topped with the slightest of spikes. Nothing so obtrusive that the neighbors would complain. Inside the fence there was low shrubbery that served to provide some privacy, but not so much that Michael couldn't see what was going on. Frankly, beating the crap out of some guy should have bothered the neighbours more than an unsightly fence, but a little private violence probably didn't affect property values as badly. And besides, anyone rich enough to live out here was probably smart enough to live with an eye to self-preservation and not knowing what was going on on cartel property.

The low ornamental plants worked to give just enough cover for Michael and Sam to get something of an idea what was going on, without being seen by the rather pre-occupied men inside the fence. The men were busy tormenting a prone, bloodied figure.

If Michael was not mistaken, the man on the ground bleeding from what looked like a gunshot wound to the leg was Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens. It didn't look like he'd be walking out of this one on his own two feet. On the other hand, they'd pretty strongly anticipated that Michael and Sam would have to infiltrate the house from this position to search and locate Givens. Once they had him they would give Fiona the signal to blast the diversion, and then escape back this way with Gutterson giving covering fire. Raylan being out in the open made things a whole lot easier. Not enough to make any of them complacent, but still, it was an advantage.

No doubt Gutterson could see everything that was going on; his partner being manhandled, his partner being shoved face first into a luxuriously blue swimming pool. Michael glanced across at Sam who gave him a reassuring nod; Gutterson was too much of a professional to go off half-cocked just because of that.

"No reason to wait." Sam said.

"Right." Michael spoke clearly into his headset. "Fi, time to make some noise."

As soon as the first explosions sounded, he instructed Gutterson crisply on which of the figures on the lawn to shoot toward. The plan didn't involve killing any cartel members unless absolutely necessary. It was more a case of precision herding using firearms.

Givens tried to push himself up off the ground, but it was a half-assed effort at best. Michael willed the beat up Marshal to stay out of Tim's line of fire.

Sam threw a floor mat from the van over the fence and Michael went over quickly. Sam had to scramble a bit more, the beer weight holding him back. It was going to be fun getting Givens over.

Gutterson was still taking potshots, laying down sparse but effective covering fire. Givens wasn't doing a lot toward getting himself off the ground. He might have swallowed half the swimming pool; he was certainly moving badly. He was lucky Gutterson had scrambled every resource he had to get to him this fast.

There was some gunfire coming from the front of the property where Fiona was playing her tricks, but Michael trusted her to look after herself.

There was one moment where one of the goons who'd retreated toward the house seemed to find his courage to come out with his gun raised to fire at Michael and Sam, but Gutterson put a bullet neatly at his feet and that seemed to dissuade him well enough for Michael's comfort. Having a sniper with a medium range rifle (only the best from Fiona) at his back was kind of comforting.

Sam got Raylan up, and Michael lent his shoulder under Raylan's other arm. The man glanced between them, evidently curious as to the identity of his rescue squad, but not so curious as to put up a fuss about being dragged bodily across the lawn and more or less hoisted and dropped over the fence. There was not a lot of time for finesse. Sooner or later the cartel gunmen would realize there wasn't a full sized assault force at their front door. Fiona packed a punch that you'd never expect for her size, especially when she had grenades she'd laid her hands on somewhere and home made explosives to play with.

"Fi, bring the van around, now." Michael said sharply into the headset.

"Oh, but I've still got some grenades..."

"Now, Fiona." he said. "Let's go."

Sam spoke into his headset. "Time to bug out, old buddy."

That gave Gutterson time to dismantle the rifle and get his butt back down to ground level by the time Fiona made it around the back of the property with the van. This was a vulnerable point in the plan, but both Michael and Sam were alert and had their guns out, even with Raylan slumping half-conscious between them. It wasn't the first time either of them had had to manage in a situation like this.

Fiona pulled up and Sam got Raylan into the back while Michael joined Fiona in the front seat. Sam was acting as field medic, stemming the messy bleeding from Givens's leg. Fiona sped around the corner to the pick up point for Tim, who climbed in the back with Sam and Raylan.

"Hospital?" Fiona asked, glancing back at the clients. Raylan was smarting off at Tim so apparently he wasn't too badly hurt.

"Better not." Tim said. "We're kinda running under the radar. If we can just patch him up..."

He sounded tired. Fiona supposed it was all a little more excitement than a Deputy Marshal living in Lexington was used to. Probably there was a good reason why a vet would head somewhere putatively quiet, although it seemed like this Givens had dragged plenty of trouble down on them. Personally, Fiona thought she'd die of boredom long before her violent past, and frankly, present, could catch up with her, if she went to ground somewhere that rural.

"Leg's not too bad." Sam said. "He'll live, at least long enough to get patched up by some backwoods surgeon in Kentucky."

"I'm too tired to kick your ass for making redneck cracks." Tim said, "but you know I'm good for it."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll see who kicks whose ass at the Army-Navy game this year, then you can get back to me."

"God, all the testosterone." Fiona said in a voice that sounded somewhere between amused, irritated, and aroused.

Michael grit his teeth slightly. Just because they were in an "off" phase of their ... whatever it was they had ... didn't mean he wouldn't be happy to send Tim Gutterson home before Fiona decided to eat the young man for lunch. So to speak.

"Sorry about that, Ma'am." Gutterson said, with a hint of humor in his voice. Getting between Westen and Fiona looked like a dangerous business, so he was happy to play dumb about anything that could even be remotely perceived as flirting from her.

"If we can just get cleaned up, I'll rent a car and get us out of your hair." he continued. "I think Raylan'd be safer back down in Kentucky, and you don't need Raylan-shaped problems with the cartel."

In the end, Fiona organized transport for Raylan and Tim, having developed a sudden nurturing feeling probably spurred on by the obvious looks of jealousy - obvious to her, if to no one else - Michael shot her way every time she said something nice to the adorably deadly Deputy Gutterson.

As Fiona peeled out to deliver the Kentucky duo to the nearest rent-a-wreck, Michael's phone rang.

"Jesse." Just what Michael didn't need. But after an armed raid on a cartel stronghold, what could harm could possibly come from helping Jesse out with Mom's little job?


End file.
